


blood red and sunlight gold

by JeanMarcoGiftExchangeMods, Legendaerie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Divorce, Gen, M/M, half-blood!Marco, pure blood!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:24:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanMarcoGiftExchangeMods/pseuds/JeanMarcoGiftExchangeMods, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/Legendaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: hufflepuff marco and gryffindor jean become partners in potions and what started out as occasional study sessions at the library became friendship where one is not seen without the other.</p><p>Pinch hit for the JeanMarco Secret Santa!</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood red and sunlight gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erinyanko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinyanko/gifts).



> This gift was created by Legendaerie (lostlegendaerie on tumblr), but she was unable to post from her computer, so we posted it for her! c: She is listed as a coauthor for this reason. Enjoy!

Marco Bodt has always believed in magic.

He believes in the good kind, the kind that made flowers always reach for the sun and people forgive each other. Later he’ll learn about phototropism and about how people will embrace a familiar pain rather than an unfamiliar freedom, but when he receives his letter he is still young and soft around the edges. His mother has been so excited she called in sick to work and taken him immediately to Diagon Alley, where they’d been lost in their own world until his terrified father called her on her cell phone demanding to know where they were.

And because he believes in magic, Marco isn't worried when his mother tells him that Daddy doesn't believe in magic but he will, so he boards his train with his muppety little barn owlet Soren and several school books on the magical world and doesn't even look up when the trolley full of candy comes by.

Thus Marco the half blood comes to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.

\----

Jean Kirstein has never believed in magic.

He believes in power, and talent, and knowledge; the only Pure Blood son of an arranged marriage, he has been born and groomed to succeed. But all of the pampering had stopped dead when his birthday passed without letters from either Beauxbaton or Durmstrang. His parents had split mere days later and tossed him away to some squib cousin in England, where he had received an owl for Hogwarts, of all places.

With a handful of stolen Floo Powder, a dust-covered wand and a priceless family heirloom he’d sold for a few dozen galleons, Jean makes his own way to Platform 9 3/4ths with a tadpole in a glass jar as his only friend, and sits in silence across from a boy too engrossed in reading to notice.

Thus Jean as well comes to Hogwarts, and doesn't speak the whole ride either.

\-----

Everything in Hogwarts is huge, and Marco spends half of his first day just wandering, lost and ecstatic at the wonder of it all. He asks one of the teachers for directions once, but ends up taking a wrong turn and ending up in the women’s bathroom.

So he’s afraid to ask the wrong thing in his Potions class, when he finds himself sharing a table with a boy with a sharp nose and a sharper glare.

“First stir in three drops of squid ink,” he mutters to himself, inspecting each bottle in kind. There are six at their station, and three of them are filled with dark fluid. He reaches for one and unstoppers it, letting one drop fall into his warming Shell In-and-Out potion. It hisses furiously, turning an unpleasant shade of deep blue for a moment before a little dish of pale white forms under the droplet, separating it neatly from the rest of the potion.

So that was what their teacher had meant by a fool-proof potion. It actually rejects incorrect ingredients. He fishes the little shell out of his caldron and sets it to the side.

His classmate gives him a flat look. Marco smiles nervously and grabs another one, promptly spilling it all over their notes and his new gold and black scarf.

“Sorry! Um, are there any napkins around?” He flails in place as the ink - of course he grabs the right bottle when he spills it everywhere - as his companion pulls out a wand.

“Terego,” he mutters. Some of the ink that was starting to drip off the desk reconsiders and quivers indecisively, halted in its progress. The boy glares down at the ink and swallows hard. “Terego,” he repeats, with another jab of his wand. The ink puddle shudders.

“Oh, is that a spell?” Marco asks, as the teacher finally comes over.

“A little mess never did anyone any harm, boys. Ahh, Kirstein, good job containing that squid ink,” and the old man flourishes a wand of his own, “but a good Terego would work better than… Immobulus? Glacius? What did you use?”

“Aresto Momentum,” the boy with the wand mutters, as their teacher replaces all the ink back into the bottle with his own proud declaration of “terego!”

“Ahhh, well, a good job any way. Just the kind of wide knowledge of spells I’d expect from a boy with such a talented heritage!”

“Thanks for helping me,” he whispers, heartfelt and suddenly a little awestruck at the red-scarfed boy beside him.

No reply. Kirstein just adds the powered dragon eggshell - that one was at least obvious - and gives his potion several more turns.

Marco accidentally adds an extra drop of ink to his potion, as he’s too busy staring at his classmate the rest of that period. What a strange boy.

\----

By the end of his first week, Jean has spent so much time practicing spells it feels like his arm is going to fall off. Not for the first time, he wonders if he’s just been a squib this whole time and the owl was meant for someone else. His own wand seems to fight him; he can feel the power, the possibility crackling at the back of his mind, but with every other spell failing he feels more and more useless.

And then he gets a letter from his mother, and incinerates it with a spell so powerful he gets a promise of detention in the middle of breakfast.

He likes potions, though. Potions are simple; you follow the directions and study the names of things (many of which he already knows by heart) and there are no wands, no judgement if he fails because even Harry Potter was said to have failed the occasional potion.

Today, it's just a lecture and a simple Embittering potion, and he watches his desk mate record the teacher's words by hand. Jean is half tempted to ask someone to try to Charm the boy’s pen into dictating for him, but he's afraid someone will ask him why he, the son of two great wizards, didn't do it himself. So he neatly crushes his Atlas beetle horns as his pre-Charmed quill flicks over the parchment with a lackadaisical manner. 

He pours his powdered horns in as soon as they’re allowed to begin, and watches his desk mate mimic his crushing method from earlier - using the base of the sturdy Mink Oil bottle in a rocking motion. His eyes linger a little too long, maybe, because when he looks up his companion is smiling. 

“I'm Marco, by the way.”

“Jean,” and he offers his hand. They shake, formally, and then Jean’s sleeve nearly drips into his potion and Marco stammers an apology.

“How did you know what spell to use?” the golden-scarfed boy asks, checking the progress of his Atlas horns. Jean swallows.

“My parents.”

“Oh, they were magical? You're so lucky,” and Marco sighs wistfully. Jean only just remembers to stop stirring when he adds the nine drops of mink oil. “I didn't know anything about magic until I got my letter.”

“Really? You never… Made anything happen?”

“Not that I remember. Or that my mom noticed. She said she was just as surprised as I was.”

Just that easily, Jean feels himself relax. Here was someone else who was a late bloomer. “Do you wanna study together sometime?”

“Do I-- well, that could be fun,” and Marco fidgets with the end of his scarf, which doesn't bear a mark on it from the ink incident earlier that week. “But I don't think I could teach you anything.”

“No,” he replies simply, “but it could still be fun.”

Marco’s smile returns, then, and Jean later has to fish the remains of his spoon from dropping it in his potion but in the moment he just wants to bask in the warmth of that smile forever.

\----

They both stay at Hogwarts that Christmas; Marco gets a letter from his mother saying that Daddy isn't being as understanding as she thought he would be, but that she’ll come and visit. Jean learns from the Headmaster that his parents have been fighting over transferring him to either of their alma maters, and that his caretaker is furious at the loss of his wand.

No presents arrive. No parents visit. No headmaster comes to whisk Jean away to a different country, and both boys start the next term closer than ever.

\-----

“So you don't think your wand obeys you properly?” asks Marco one sunny afternoon. They’re having lunch in the courtyard together, Jean having a deep dislike of one of his fellow Gryffindors and Marco having a deep dislike of being away from Jean. His mother hasn't replied to his letter in a week.

Jean shakes his head and speaks messily around a bite of sandwich. “It wasn't really mine to start with,” he slurs, “and it's not like Headmaster is gonna let me slip on down to Diagon Alley for a new one on some random weekend.”

“You could ask Hanji to go with you?”

He shrugs. True, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher is as enthusiastic and obliging as they come, but… “I don't know if it's the wand or the wizard.”

“Well, I think you're a splendid wizard,” Marco says, in the matter of fact way of his, and he leans back against the grass. “Any wand should be happy to have you as a master.”

A thought suddenly occurs to him. “Marco, that's it! You have to duel me!”

“Duel?” his friend asks, a worried note in his voice.

“With magic. Don't worry, it won't hurt anyone if we just use a disarming spell. I used to watch my mom practice on our house elf all the time.” He has the spell and the process memorized; face your partner, bow, walk seven paces - or was it eight? Never mind. “Let me borrow your wand, and I'll win mine back from you.”

Marco hands his over without hesitation - it's lighter, smoother, and a little more flexible then Jean’s relic which he hands back in exchange. “What do I do?”

“Just stand over there,” and he waves his free hand on the other side of the courtyard, “and I'll disarm you.”

“You'll what?”

“I just flick your wand out of your hand,” Jean clarifies. Marco still looks a little frightened but holds Jean’s wand at the ready. “On three. One, two, three. Expelliarmus!”

The wand trembles and drops from Marco’s hands - he winces.

“Sorry, um, I think that was--”

“Expelliarmus!” He barks again, this time watching the end of his borrowed wand. Only the most feeble of sparks erupts, and when he looks back at Marco his friend is walking over.

“Excuse me,” and he takes his wand back and holds it close to his face. “Wand, please work for Jean!”

“You talk to your wand?”

“Well, it chose me, didn't it? Mama says a wand is a wizard’s best friend. And it's mine. Except for you, of course.” Marco hands his wand back and goes back to his place, holding Jean’s dark red wand out at the ready.

But then, as he stares down his best friend, he doesn't want to duel anymore. “Let's just go to class.”

They swap wands and head on to the rest of their classes.

\-------

His wand doesn't work right for the rest of his glasses. The feather he tries to lift doesn't budge in Charms, and when he tries a simple cleaning spell he instead sprays water all over his desk and the desks of two other Hufflepuffs and one furious Ravenclaw.

By the end of the day, Marco finds himself called to the Headmaster’s office. His Charms teacher, Rico, leads him up a long flight of stairs and stops in front of a stone statue.

“Snapdragons,” she states, and the statue turns to reveal another staircase, this one a tight spiral. Rico gestures up, up, up to a door in the distant darkness, and Marco swallows.

“Thanks,” he squeaks, and starts his ascent.

His wand trembles in his tight sweaty grip and he trips a few times; but when he finally reaches the Headmasters office no one seems angry. Not even the paintings which tower over them all; the three original headmasters Maria Mjolnor, Laterose Jaques, and Sina Domovoi, who all look a little bit like they were in the middle of a very nice afternoon nap. Except for Jean, of course, who shoots Marco a dark look.

“I understand you two were dueling at lunch today?” Zachly asks, looking down at Marco through his glasses. He swallows and turns pleading eyes towards Jean.

“Dueling?”

“Don't lie,” speaks a second adult; it takes Marco a moment to recognize him as Arlert, the man from the wand shop. “It's not good for little boys to lie.”

“Yes,” and Marco closes his eyes rather than meet Jean's hurt gaze. “Yes, we were. But only because--”

“May I see your wand?” Alert asks, and Marco feels tears welling up. But he hands the wand over anyway, bracing himself for the sound of splintering wood.

“Willow, 11 inches. Strong elasticity. Phoenix tail core.” He sets Marco’s wand on his desk and picks up Jean’s. “Cherry. 12 and ¼ inches. Rather old. Unicorn hair core, if I'm not mistaken. Tell me, what wand did you use in your duel?”

Marco looks again at Jean, but Jean is watching Arlert with careful curiosity. Then he looks at Zachly.

“Jean’s wand. He wanted to… to win his wand back from me so it would work for him.”

“Ah ha,” and Arlert smiles back at Zachly. “That explains it.”

He hands Jean’s wand back to Marco.

“Try casting a spell with this one. Something simple, ah…. Perhaps Levitate on this book? May I?”

Zachly nods, and Marco hesitantly lifts his wand. 

“Ummm…. Book Leviosa?”

“Like you mean it, child,” Zachly encourages, and Marco repeats the lesson he failed that very day. Swish and flick, like he means it; and the book raises a few inches off the desk before landing again with a heavy thump.

“And you,” the wand master says as he hands Jean the wand that Marco had bought from his shop only a few months ago. Jean takes a deep bracing breath, and Marco finds himself whispering to his wand again.

“Please behave,” he prays under his breath; Jean recites the spell, and Marco watches with baited breath as the book rises high and steady before Jean lets it drop.

Arlert looks rather pleased with himself. “Just as I suspected. True, young mister Bott chose his wand at the start of the term, but it feels to me that it would rather answer to Kirstein now.”

“So, we’re…. Not in trouble?” Jean ventures, looking a little bolder now. Marco tries to pass him an encouraging smile, but can't catch his eye. Zachly coughs.

“Oh, you'll both have detention for the rest of the month, but you may keep Bott’s wand. Arlert, always a pleasure.”

“Of course, Darius.” The wand master gives Marco a smile. “It takes a very true heart to give up his wand for another. And a very brave one,” and he turns and says this to Jean, “to use a stolen one for all this time in silence.” 

“Indeed,” Zachly says dryly. “I hope the both of you use your talents in smarter ways the rest of your time here at Hogwarts.”

\------

They sometimes doubt their belief in magic.

Marco goes home to a broken marriage, and his mother has to explain to him that Daddy doesn't understand how good magic is and that they’re going to have to work very hard to buy his schoolbooks next year. And Jean spends most of his summer with yet another relative, this one on his mother’s side with a daughter a third year Slytherin who teases him constantly but lets Jean borrow her elf owl to send Marco letters.

But all of that summer, and the rest of their years together, they never doubt their belief in each other.


End file.
